Leave it to the Steele patriarch to put her on the spot.
“Tuesday will be fine, Gramp.” He telegraphed Devyn a silent apology as he squeezed Isabel’s hand. “Come on, honey. Let’s go home.”
“I don’t want to wreck your lesson.” Isabel tugged her fingers free. “I can lay down over there.” She pointed to a row of folding chairs against the wall.
“You’ll feel better at home.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll feel bad because you won’t get your lesson tonight. Why can’t Gramp take me home?”
“I don’t mind giving you a ride if you’d rather stick with the original plan.”
As Devyn spoke, he studied her.
She didn’t seem any more thrilled about the idea of a private dance lesson than he was, but it was kind of her to be accommodating.
“Wonderful!” Gramp was enthusiastic enough for both of them. “That way you’re covered in case an emergency comes up at the mill and you can’t get here on Tuesday. You’d be in a fine pickle without a few pointers from our fancy footwork expert here.” He held out his hand to Isabel. “Let’s go home so these two can get the lesson rolling.”
Isabel sidled away and slid her fingers into Gramp’s.
Now what?
Unfortunately, his grandfather didn’t give him a chance tocome up with an escape plan. “We’ll see you at home later, Aaron. Have fun, you two.”
With that, he hurried Isabel toward the exit and disappeared through the door on the heels of the last cast members.
Silence fell in the hall.
Aaron cleared his throat. “Sorry. Gramp can be a steamroller.” Especially if he had a bee in his bonnet about something.
Devyn’s lips quirked. “Is steamrolling part of the Steele DNA?”
“I hope not—but Ihavebeen called single-minded on occasion.”
“Guilty as charged on that count too. Tenacity can be beneficial, though. It’s certainly helped me in my dance career—and that’s a perfect segue into our lesson. Shall we get started?”
His pulse picked up ... and he wasn’t even holding her in his arms yet.
Not good.
“Um ... I have a feeling you may regret this.” He glanced down at her small feet, protected by nothing but flimsy pink ballet slippers.
From a practical standpoint, this was definitely a bad idea. One wrong step, and he could crush her foot—even if hehadexchanged his work boots for dress shoes tonight.
He should put a stop to this before—
“Why?”
He lifted his chin to find her studying him. “I could hurt your foot. And if I put theOklahomachoreographer out of commission, everyone in the cast will hate me.” He tried for a teasing tone.
“My feet are more durable than they look.”
Not likely.
“If I smash any of your toes, you’ll not only be sidelined from this show but from your career. And feet can be permanently deformed.”
“Ugly feet are the fate of ballet dancers.”
He gave the pale pink slippers below her leggings another inspection. “That’s a hard sell.”
